


took me by surprise

by llyrical



Category: Raven Cycle - Maggie Stiefvater
Genre: Cats, Drabble, Dream Pack, Fluff, Other, kavinsky is awful at naming things
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-09-04
Updated: 2016-09-04
Packaged: 2018-08-13 01:14:42
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,301
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7956403
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/llyrical/pseuds/llyrical
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“What are you gonna do with it?” Proko asks, and Kavinsky thinks, <i>huh.</i> Because oh yeah, right, he probably should do something with it, considering that it’s a <i>living creature</i> that he just <i>brought into the world</i>.</p>
            </blockquote>





	took me by surprise

**Author's Note:**

> Just a drabble. Sorta-kinda an early birthday present for [gvnseys](https://archiveofourown.org/users/gvnseys). 
> 
> You can find me on tumblr at [Pokespec](https://pokespec.tumblr.com) or my TRC sideblog [Prokopinskys](prokopinskys.tumblr.com).

“An accident,” he tells Proko, and the words are hollow and sound fake even to him. Proko raises an eyebrow, the hint of a smirk tugging at pretty, thin lips. They’re both shirtless and they’ve been in bed for who-knows-how-long, and Kavinsky is wondering how many hours have passed since the sun went down. 

He stares down at the kitten.

“What are you gonna do with it?” Proko asks, and Kavinsky thinks, _huh._ Because oh yeah, right, he probably should do something with it, considering that it’s a _living creature_ that he just _brought into the world_. He can already hear Jiang’s voice in his head taunting him about how he’s a mother. 

He steals the half-gone cigarette from between Prokopenko’s fingers and takes a slow drag, gaze lifting up to the ceiling. “Walmart is open twenty-four hours, right?” 

 

The kitten is black with little white paws, and he names it Socks. 

“That’s like, the worst name for a cat ever,” Skov complains, he himself very kitten-like as he stretches out over Swan’s lap and lets the other man card his hand through his hair. 

“It makes _sense_ ,” Kavinsky argues, growing defensive. “She looks like she’s wearing socks!” 

Proko laughs at him. Kavinsky glares daggers and drags his fingers down the kitten’s back to calm himself. She lets out a small mewl and pushes her face against his hand. 

His heart melts, just slightly, but he’d never tell the boys that. 

Across the room, chewing on a pencap that he got from god-knows-where, Jiang says, “Didn’t really peg you for the maternal type, K.”

And there it is. 

He shoots back, “I took all of _you_ in, didn’t I?” 

None of them have a retort for that, because it’s true. Kavinsky took each and every one of them in as strays, the sons of millionaires-turned-criminals or vice-versa. 

Socks falls asleep in the crook of his arm, her front paws stretched out and covering her face. She’s so small and so fragile, so trusting of him to care for her. 

So much like his boys had been when he took them in.

 

“Oh my _god_ ,” Prokopenko says on Monday morning. “You have the fucking cat, don’t you?”

K glares, glancing around as if someone might overhear, but he doesn’t really care. The teachers at Aglionby know better than to confront him about anything, and even if they did, he’d struggle to feel anything more than apathy. 

He shakes out the big zip-up hoodie that he’s wearing over his rumpled Aglionby uniform. Socks is deep in one pocket, snoozing away. She could sleep through the apocalypse, and K isn’t sure if it’s because she’s a dream creature or just because she’s a kitten.

“I couldn’t leave her at home,” he defends. “The house isn’t exactly cat-proof.” The basement alone is full of booze and drugs and fireworks, none of it particularly well sealed-away. They duck into their Economics class, the last ones in before the bell. 

They share the class with Swan, who’s already seated at his desk in the far back corner of the classroom. When they approach him, Proko says, “Swan, he has the _fucking cat_ ,” the sentence ending on a laugh as if he’s just now being hit with the absurdity of the situation: Joseph Kavinsky, a known bad-boy type, smuggling a tiny kitten into his elite private school. 

Swan’s gaze moves slowly up to K, dark eyes filled with amusement. “You’re getting soft,” he says. 

K scoffs, but one hand is shoved in his pocket, a sleepy kitten waking up to bite at his fingertips. “I don’t even _like_ the stupid cat,” he mutters, falling into rather than sitting at his desk. “She’s just something to do.” 

After a moment, he turns around to grin at Proko and add, “Just like you,” but too much time has passed and the words don’t have an effect. 

Proko and Swan exchange a look and shake their heads at him. 

 

The first time he walks into the basement and finds Socks balanced on Skov’s chest, pawing gently at his face as he laughs, he doesn’t think much about it. 

The fourth time it happens, he’s a little irritated. 

“Didn’t realize you were so close with _my_ cat,” K spits, walking by and scooping up Socks on the way. She’s grown quickly over the course of a few months, now more noticeable in K’s hoodie pocket and less likely to stay quiet all throughout his classes. 

“Didn’t realize she was only _your_ cat,” Skov shoots back, rolling up into a sitting position and then springing onto his feet. “We all live here. We all feed her.” 

“I _dreamt_ her,” he huffs, hugging her close to his chest. He squeezes a bit too hard and she meows, hitting his face with a paw but not getting her claws out. He scratches behind her ears and she leans back into the touch, eyes slipping shut and purr starting up. 

Skov sidles over to him, an eyebrow raised and an amused look on his face. “You’re kind of a control freak,” he drawls, as if this isn’t already obvious. His hands come down to K’s hips, Socks the only thing in between them, and K gives him a dry look. 

Switching his hold on Socks to just one hand keeping her pressed against his chest, he raises his other hand to Skov’s face and runs his thumb over the boy’s bottom lip. “I own _all_ of you,” K says, voice low, as he lifts himself onto his toes to get close to Skov’s face. “ _And_ I own this cat.” 

Skov holds his stare for a long time, and then leans in. K’s eyes flutter shut, but Skov’s lips never make contact with his. Instead, the hands at his hips disappear, and then Socks is being yanked out of his hold and Skov is dashing towards the staircase with a laugh. 

Socks, being a kitten, probably doesn’t understand that she’s just been stolen away. K can hear her meowing softly, and he swears loudly at Skov as he disappears up the stairs. 

 

Even after they’ve had Socks for nearly six months, K isn’t any less infatuated with her. 

On a day that they’re all just lounging around the basement, Kavinsky tosses her a toy mouse that he’d found shoved in between the couch cushions. She rolls over onto her back instantly, catching it with her back feet and then using her front to pull it closer to her and latch onto it with her mouth. Skov coos, and Jiang says, “They do that to imitate how they kill prey in the wild.”

Five pairs of eyes (one of which is from a small black cat) turn on him, and he says, “What? I’ve been doing research.” 

Kavinsky rolls his eyes. Prokopenko makes soft clicking sounds until Socks looks up at him, and then pats his lap and continues clicking until she jumps up onto the couch, sprawling halfway across his lap and resting her paws on Kavinsky’s legs. 

Proko strokes her back with affection in his eyes and K scratches underneath her chin, a smile tugging at his lips when she tilts her head back to give him better access. Her claws knead into his shorts and dig into his skin through the fabric, but he’s used to it enough that he doesn’t even notice. 

“You little gremlin,” he says to her, but it’s fondly. She opens one eye and tilts her head at him. 

K glances around at the room at Jiang doodling in a notebook, Skov and Swan playing with a half-deflated balloon and hitting it back and forth so it doesn’t touch the ground, and Proko pressed firmly against his side, a kitten stretched out across their laps. 

What an odd family they make.


End file.
